


The Fifth Week

by sxkii



Series: Letters [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Johnlock - Freeform, Rated teen for language, like super bad angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxkii/pseuds/sxkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While John was away in the army, Sherlock would get letters from him every week or so. But what happens when he stops receiving letters from John? What would Sherlock Holmes do without John Watson? He would drown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fifth Week

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first fic based off of a prompt for a RP I'm working on with Krys! (sugarcoatedcyanide) I hope you like it!

      He couldn’t stand it. The tingling.. the weakness that the anxiety brought him. He hadn’t gotten a letter from John in weeks. _Weeks._ By the fourth week, after a whole month of not hearing from John, he was done. John’s letter came every week or two. He’s two weeks late, and Sherlock didn’t want to even think what that would mean. Usually, he could deduce why John’s letters were not coming, but the anxiety struck him hard every time he looked at the mailbox. The tingling in his mouth and the upset in his stomach; the very thought of John made him shake. Sherlock knew what late letters meant, people got them all the time; he just never imagined it would happen to him.. he didn’t want to.

      By the third week he stopped checking with mail, figuring the only thing that would be in it were bills or letters from mom and dad. Not John, and he couldn’t stand it. The fifth week was long enough. He couldn’t even function anymore. He stopped eating by the fourth week; anything he put into his mouth came back up, if he could even get it down. He was already bad without John there, but to not have him _at all?_ No.

      Sherlock had only used cocaine once, and it was before he met John. He hadn’t used it since, but now..

      He had some stashed away deep in his closet, for.. emergencies? He didn’t really know why, but he was just glad it was there now. Sherlock grabbed the small bag he had the needles in and went to the bathroom and shut the door. He didn’t really know why he shut the door; there was no one home. Mrs. Hudson was away on vacation, and John.. well. **_Fuck._** _Stop thinking._ He unzipped the small bag and sat in the bathtub, shakily, yet forcefully, grabbed three of the needles and sunk down in the bottom of the tub. He swallowed hard. He was shaking so much now he could barely touch his arm with the needle accurately. He put his hands into fists and tried to calm himself down before slowly slipping the tip of the needle into his vein. “John.. John wouldn’t want me doing this.” Sherlock said weakly to himself. _Well why the hell does it matter, John is **dead.**_ He cried out as he quickly pushed the plunger on the syringe and filled his blood with the other two doses as well.

      All he thought about was John. He soon regretted his actions, realizing how idiotic he was. He started to sob; he didn’t want to die. But the thoughts came back. They circled around his head as he faded off. “He’s dead. You’ll never see him again. You can never hug or kiss him again. He is _gone._ ”

      A few minutes after Sherlock had drifted off, Greg had reached his flat. Greg looked at the mail piled up on Sherlock’s front step. That was a bit odd for him, and he knew something must’ve been wrong. Greg grabbed the mail, noticing at least three letters from John; two asking why he wasn’t writing back. Greg’s heart dropped and he forcefully pushed on the door, excepting it to be locked, yet it wasn’t. That was even odder. Greg quickly ran up the steps to Sherlock’s flat, yelling his name. When he didn’t get anything, Greg started to get scared, but stayed calm out of instinct. He noticed the bathroom light on and rushed toward the door, busting it open. His eyes widened at the sight. He ran over to Sherlock and yelled his name loudly, somehow hoping he would just wake up at the shock. He frantically called 999 and spoke as quickly as he could. He grabbed Sherlock underneath the arms and carefully pulled him out of the bathtub, watching frighteningly as the three needles fell off of his body and landed with an echo in the bathtub


End file.
